The Second Life of Inspector Canessa Page 24

  Canessa would never get used to it, to human stupidity. Those bastards would go nowhere. He’d catch them all himself if he had to.

  Lazzarini had fallen with his right leg at an unnatural angle, a shoe flung from his body and only one white sock still on.

  A police officer finally arrived with a white sheet, bought in a nearby shop. None of the magistrates, officers, or agents present at the scene had reacted at all. Not even the major, in theory Canessa’s superior.

  In theory, but not in practice.

  Everyone knew Canessa’s reputation, his ties to the general, his incredible success, the shooting in Rome when he’d saved Verde, the freedom he enjoyed. But as one chief constable put it: ‘Sure, he has help, he has friends in high places, he has freedoms we can’t dream of. But even without all that, it’s how he looks at you: as if he could blow your brains out on the spot. The man is terrifying.’

  One of the police officers explained, ‘There were two of them waiting for him. They called out his name. Usual m.o. But they’ve never killed anyone with children nearby. The bastards!’

  He raised his voice on the final word. But Canessa didn’t even notice. ‘Children? Where are they?’

  Canessa left Repetto downstairs to deal with the scene.

  ‘Make sure they’re doing things properly. Given that for once we got here pretty much as it happened, we can’t overlook anything. I doubt there’ll be much, but if there are any interesting clues, we need them bagged and tagged.’

  He sent a young brigadier to a toy shop he’d spotted in via Foppa on the way over. He called the lift and headed to the fourth floor.

  A uniformed police officer stood at the door. Fortunately he recognised Canessa immediately, since Canessa was famous for demolishing cops who wasted his time by not keeping up to speed. Inside the flat were the usual crowd of people who turn up after a tragedy, all playing their part. Family, friends, police, colleagues. Canessa knew how grief worked. He observed from afar, but without playing a part.

  The flat was large, with four bedrooms and a vast living room, all of them opening onto a long corridor that led to the front door.

  Captain Canessa removed his coat and hat and hung them up with all the others. A commissioner he’d met before came up to him. One of the few he liked, because he didn’t get bogged down in preambles.

  He cut right to the chase. ‘The wife just landed in Zurich. They sent someone from the consulate. Efficient for once. They’re bringing her back to Milan.’

  ‘The kids?’ Canessa asked.

  The police commissioner shook his head.

  ‘The eldest was still holding on to his father’s hand. They had to pry him away. He’s got a small wound to his arm. Nothing serious, but he was covered in blood and in shock. The doctors wanted to take him to the hospital, but his grandmother—’ he pointed to a woman in her sixties, her eyes puffy from crying ‘—didn’t want him to go. He’s in his bedroom with a paediatrician, Lazzarini’s cousin. He’s not ill, but he won’t speak.’

  ‘And the girl?’

  ‘She cried. Then she said that her dad is dead because some bad men shot him and she wants someone to do the same to them. After that she too went quiet. I’m waiting for Mummy, she said. She’s in her room with her preschool teacher. The school’s just across the road and the teacher came over to help almost immediately.’

  The commissioner paused, looking around to make sure no one was listening. ‘You want to know what I think? She isn’t even five, and she’s tougher than some people I know. She might be able to help with a police sketch.’

  ‘Hm,’ was Canessa’s reply. The young brigadier came back at that moment, holding a bag. Canessa looked inside, then squeezed it. ‘Good, nice and soft.’

  ‘It was quite pricey, sir,’ the young brigadier offered him the sales tag.

  Canessa looked at the receipt and nodded. ‘Let’s hope they’ll cover the cost for us!’ He turned back to the commissioner. ‘Which one’s the girl’s room?’

  The police officer pointed it out. ‘Do you have something in mind?’

  ‘Actually, I do. I want to try something.’ Annibale pulled the stuffed lion out of the bag, looked at it, put it back and walked to the girl’s bedroom.

  The hardest part, Canessa thought when he left the Lazzarini home, had been removing the teacher from the room without kicking her out, insulting her or having her cuffed as an obstacle to an ongoing investigation. That was his usual method for dealing with rioters, people who crossed him or wasted his time. The teacher wasn’t more than twenty-two or so, and not a fan of the cops or law enforcement. Like most of her peers, she obviously belonged to the far left, and way farther than the limit marked out by the Italian Communist Party.

  ‘I’m not leaving,’ she’d said, smoothing her velvet skirt and pressing her Camperos boots together. ‘I’m not leaving her alone.’

  I’m not leaving the girl alone with a fascist pig like you, her defiant look said. But Canessa hadn’t fallen for it. He wasn’t there for a pointless fight. It was nothing personal, all part of the job.

  He had to convince her to leave, and he didn’t have much time to do so: he wanted to talk, however briefly, to the girl, who was leaning against her pillow looking bored.

  ‘Listen: you know her. I don’t. But it didn’t take me long to figure out that she’s tough. She saw her father die, and she has the strength to help us figure out who did it. You might not believe me, but I’m actually great with kids and’ – he smiled – ‘with teachers. If I’m not seducing them, I’m arresting them. You’ll be out of here in a few minutes either way, but one method will be more problematic for her. We don’t have much time, so please… I’d rather you left by choice.’

  The young woman looked at him with a mixture of hatred and curiosity. She left the door ajar and stood outside.

  The girl seemed interested in Canessa’s uniform. She kept quiet a little longer and then said, ‘My daddy is dead.’

  Canessa nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Caterina.’

  Her face lit up. ‘You know my name?’

  ‘Not only your name. I also know you like stuffed animals. So I brought you this one. His name is Leo.’ He handed her the toy.

  Caterina grabbed the lion. She hugged it, bringing it to her face.

  Canessa knew he only had one chance, and time was running out. As soon as her mother got back, she’d take the child away and her memories would fade, if not vanish entirely. This was the time to find out what she knew.

  ‘Caterina, I know this isn’t easy…’

  ‘Are you going to get the bad men?’ she interrupted.

  ‘I’ll try, yes.’

  ‘Promise.’

  ‘I promise,’ he said, regretting it immediately.

  She hugged the lion again, brushed some hair out of her eyes, and looked at him. ‘You have a bad face too. I think you’ll get them.’

  ‘But I’m with the good guys,’ Canessa protested, feeling ridiculous.

  She made a strange face. ‘It’s a compliment! To get bad guys you need a good bad guy.’

  Canessa couldn’t hold back a smile. The child was incredible.

  ‘But I need your help to catch the bad guys. Do you remember anything about the people who fired the shots?’

  He worried that he might be stirring up some appalling memories, but if that was the case, she didn’t show it.

  ‘I didn’t see one of them very well. He had a beard, but not as long as Merlin’s. I saw the other one: he was short and had a cut from here to here.’ She touched under her right ear.

  ‘A scar,’ Canessa suggested.

  ‘Yes, a scar.’

  The captain stood up. ‘Thank you Caterina. You’ve been very helpful. You’re a very special kid.’

  ‘Will you get them?’ she
asked again.

  Canessa turned back to see her staring at him with her green eyes. He shoved his hands into his pockets, then did something he had never done. It went against the Canessa Commandments. It was something a police officer should never do with anyone, least of all the family of a victim.

  He made a promise.

  ‘I’ll get them.’

  4

  The Third Millennium

  1

  Annibale canessa still remembered Teresa, Lazzarini’s widow. She was hard to forget, not only because of her looks, but also because of the circumstances in which they’d met. Eight months after her husband’s death, they’d had a coffee at Milan’s Cova café in via Montenapoleone. He’d just got back into service after recovering from the via Gaeta massacre, and had been in town for a meeting with a judge.

  Teresa had visited him in Genoa, while he was still in intensive care after the shooting. She’d come specially from Milan, bringing a pack of gianduiotti with her. Had Annibale been conscious, the Carabinieri watching over him would have let her through – no one could say no to her. But he wasn’t, so she left her gift with a note asking him to call her as soon as he was back on his feet. She wanted to meet him.

  And so, the night before his return to Milan, Annibale called and they’d arranged to meet in the historic Cova café in the city centre. It had been warm, and ignoring protocol, Canessa showed up in jeans and a t-shirt.

  ‘You look like a teenager,’ Repetto said.

  ‘I am one.’

  ‘You wish! You’re older than I am!’

  It was a month since what Repetto had dubbed ‘the trip to Rome’. Milan was half empty, and would soon be entirely so.

  Canessa wanted to walk from the courts to the meeting. Repetto had tried to talk him out of it (‘Let’s take the car, it’s got air-conditioning’), but nothing doing. After his near-death experience, he wanted to get back to his simple routines, such as a walk in the city centre.

  They’d formed a strange convoy: Canessa on one side of the street, Repetto on the other for a wider visual, two Carabinieri in a patrol car behind them (one holding a PM12 machine gun, finger at the ready).

  Given the time and day, Cova was almost empty. Teresa had chosen a table in the corner. Her blonde hair was hidden under a foulard tied under her chin, and she was wearing sunglasses indoors. She had on blue silk trousers and a baggy green shirt, with a light cashmere cardigan over her shoulders to shield her from the air conditioning. She’d stood up and shaken his hand in one fluid motion.

  ‘I ordered a cappuccino. Can I get you anything…’ She paused, thought about his rank, and finished, ‘Major?’

  Canessa glanced at his watch. 5.35 p.m. ‘A gin and tonic,’ he told the waiter.

  She removed her glasses and looked at him, smiling with the incredible green eyes she’d passed on to her daughter.

  ‘I thought you couldn’t drink on shift?’

  ‘I do whatever I want on shift.’ Canessa smiled provocatively, and immediately regretted doing so.

  Lazzarini’s widow held back a laugh. ‘Yes, they told me what you were like.’

  ‘And…?’

  ‘A Carabiniere to the bone, as far as commitment goes, but as for the rest…’ She paused. ‘Well, a little idiosyncratic.’

  Canessa was still recovering and he tired easily, but Teresa’s extraordinary beauty was arousing some vital, physical instinct. He kept his mind on the thought of her as a widow and the mother of Caterina, his formidable little ally and witness. His gaze, however, revealed an undeniable attraction to her.

  Teresa smiled again – a symphony in itself – clearly not insulted by any of the thoughts Canessa’s eyes betrayed.

  ‘You’re an unusual man, Major. However, I am here to thank you personally for having kept your promise to my daughter. You got my poor Rodolfo’s killers.’

  The man with the scar had been Gennaro Esposito. Tough little Caterina had recognised him in a photo. The taller, bearded one had been Adelmo Federzoni. Several supergrasses had confirmed that the men had been in Milan at the time, and that they usually worked as a pair.

  ‘If we’re talking the letter of the law, I suppose I did get them. But I’d rather have taken them alive.’

  Teresa remained silent for a moment. ‘I understand. Still, at least Caterina is sleeping again now. You know, as soon as I got home, she told me about you and showed me the lion. She was practically quivering with a mixture of sadness and excitement. She was thinking of her father and the horror she’d witnessed, but also about being part of the investigation. Before the via Gaeta operation, she’d stay up all night. She didn’t have nightmares like Piero. She said she had to be ready, in case they came back. She kept a piece of paper on her bedside table with the phone number you gave her.’

  ‘That child is incredibly strong,’ Canessa commented. ‘How is Piero?’

  Teresa leaned against the soft chair and closed her eyes. ‘He’s still terrified. He stopped wetting his bed, but he’s started again. He’ll only go to school if we walk the other way round. We can’t go through piazza Bazzi any more. He’s been assigned a psychologist. Let’s hope it works.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Canessa didn’t know what else to say.

  Teresa removed her foulard, and her blonde hair fell over her shoulders and into her eyes. Canessa did his best not to react, despite realising that even a simple gesture from such a woman was enough to stir him up.

  ‘Life goes on. And knowing that my husband’s killers are no longer around is an even better reason not to look back. I didn’t want them dead, but this way we’ll skip the whole ordeal of a trial. And considering my children, that may be best. In any case, the fact that you spent a whole month in hospital must mean there were no alternatives.’

  Canessa simply nodded. He was about to stand up and bring the meeting to a close when she blurted out, ‘I really miss my husband. My life feels so empty since he left us. I know how men look at me. I know what I could have with someone else’ – she looked at him – ‘and every now and then I do meet someone who makes me feel something. But I’m afraid of getting back to my life. There was an alchemy with him that I doubt I’ll find with anyone else. Are you married? Sorry, silly question. How could you be, with your life? I don’t know, maybe I’ll re-marry, maybe not. Rodolfo always told me that only fools say “never”.’

  Annibale nodded.

  ‘But the feelings I experienced in the ten years with my husband… I’ll never have those again. I may find someone to share a bed with, but that’s all. I don’t think I can stay alone for too long. I need warmth, like I need food, drink…’

  For years, Canessa wondered if that had been an invitation. Maybe, if he’d said the right thing, he would now be in a room at the Grand Hotel et de Milan with that goddess in his arms, and Repetto holding a gun outside the door.

  Invitation or not, Canessa had stood up and kissed her hand, an officer and a gentleman. His action wasn’t motivated by a sense of morality, his position or the uniform he usually wore. Not even respect for a widow in her moment of grief, but respect for himself.

  After via Gaeta, he’d decided to change his ways. He’d had it with superficial flings. No more one-night stands, no more chancing it with his colleagues’ wives or girlfriends. He would wait for someone who truly excited the whole of him, and not just his desire.

  ‘Madam, it has been a pleasure to meet you. And thank you for the gianduiotti. I’m a big fan.’ He walked out swiftly, forcing Repetto to leave half of his fourth soda.

  2

  Annibale couldn’t look at Caterina, sitting on the other side of the sofa, her arms wrapped around her long legs, without seeing her mother in her. They were identical, and he was overcome with the memory of their first meeting: the woman, Cova, the walk, her invitation…

 
; There was a similar awkwardness with her daughter, now. They sat in silence, exhibiting a shyness that was out of character for both of them.

  The layout of the flat had changed completely. The entrance and long corridor had merged into one large living area. The furniture was modern, mostly IKEA. The paintings, rugs, books and objects scattered around the house spoke of refined taste. Rather than a family home, it looked like a single person’s spacious refuge. A professional drawing table in a sunny corner revealed Caterina’s passion for her work.

  ‘You’re just the way I remember you.’ She was first to break the silence, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

  Canessa smiled. ‘Thank you. You’ve obviously changed, but I still recognise the strong young girl I met all those years ago.’

  Caterina didn’t blush or react to his words. She seemed lost in thought. She got up from the sofa and walked into another room. She came back with the stuffed lion, and placed it on the sofa beside Canessa.

  ‘I’ve always had him with me. One time when I was about twelve, I went on a school trip to London and I left him somewhere. I had to move heaven and earth to get him back.’

  ‘Where are your mother and brother?’ he asked.

  Caterina blew her hair out of her face. ‘Mum got married again, seven years after Dad’s death. She had two more kids. Her husband is a good man, and he was amazing with us. But he’s from Florence. Do you know what Florentines call their city?’

  ‘The Capital.’ Canessa laughed, remembering a Tuscan corporal who’d always said, ‘I’m on leave, going back to the Capital.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Caterina giggled. ‘While we were both young, Mum forced him to live up here, but when we were older, whoosh! moving out. Piero and I stayed here. Mum’s down there with my stepsiblings, and she seems pretty happy.’